


Discoveries

by vianne78



Series: Danae [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, It got sort of out of hand, Just me trying to get to know my Dovahkiin, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Vorstag is clueless, but also very sweet, there's fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vianne78/pseuds/vianne78
Summary: He has been looking at her for a long time. Maybe it's time for him to really see.This started everything. It was supposed to be a one-shot drabble.





	Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been a writer, never had the courage to even try, and this was supposed to be just for me, an attempt to get to know my Dovahkiin better. In the end I thought I'd post it anyway, if only to prove to myself that I could do it. So there. Ha!

He liked looking at her. Not for any obvious reason. He thought she was beautiful, of course, but that wasn’t why. He’d been looking at her for a long time.  
They had been up north for a while now, so she was mostly covered in fur and armor and rarely showed any skin. Though he did like her skin - it was all smooth and somehow glowy even when she was covered in dirt -, that was not it, either. His eyes followed her when they were on the move.  
He’d been surprised to find out she had not been born a warrior, like he was, because even fully equipped, she wasn’t clumsy or slow. She moved efficiently, almost gracefully, covering distance seemingly with ease. And they ran more often than they walked - she thought walking was too tedious. The heavy armor she usually wore must have taken its toll on her, but he could rarely tell.

She didn’t like wearing her helmet outside combat. She never complained, only mildly said it blocked her vision too much, but he knew the weight gave her a headache.  
Several things gave her away. The little, barely audible sigh of relief when she combed her fingers through her hair, pinched the bridge of her nose, or briefly rubbed her temples. The deep breaths she took, when she finally smelled the surrounding nature instead of steel and sweat. The look of contentment and the hint of a smile on her lips, when she finally looked around unhindered.  
He really liked looking at her.

She loved her heavy war hammer.  
They had plenty of weapons with them at all times, but for some reason that lump of steel was her favorite. There was always more enthusiasm than skill involved in her fighting, but she was strong, quick-witted, and her armor was excellent, so the hammer made her lethal in close combat. He had witnessed fully grown trolls go down like trees, when she landed bone-cracking blows to their various limbs.  
She had even killed her first dragon with it, and she claimed it had been pure luck. Almost felt like the hammer did it for her. It had happened before his time, of course, but he was sure luck had played a much smaller part in it than she let on.  
He liked looking at her, when she was telling her story.

She had a habit of speaking to her horse.  
Little words of encouragement here and there, when the terrain was particularly demanding. Thanking it for a job well done. Cooing back when the animal touched her cheek or nudged her hand with its muzzle, and then scratching its ears affectionately.  
It seemed to enjoy it.  
She answered to its huffs and neighs (“ _yes, yes, I know_ ”). Whispered things to it, glanced at it knowingly when they were settling for the night, and she was unpacking their gear from its back. He could have sworn the beast sometimes looked back at her just as conspiratorially. It certainly followed her around like an overgrown duckling.  
He was loathe to admit he did much the same.  
He liked looking at her, and he gathered the horse did, too.

She always slept lightly.  
Every rustle stirred her, every subtle clink and creak of his armor when he adjusted himself.  
At home she slept so peacefully, but never on the road. He wondered about that. Maybe she didn’t trust him? Or maybe she still wasn’t used to life on the road.  
He wanted to ask her if she felt safe with him, but he kept quiet.  
He made a point of finding the best possible place, the most comfortable position for a lookout before she fell asleep, so he wouldn’t have to move. So he wouldn’t disturb her rest. Usually it was a place where he could keep an eye on not only their surroundings, but on her as well.  
He felt a sense of calm, hearing her breathing slow down.  
A sense of wonder, seeing her face relax and take on that innocent look.  
He liked looking at her, and loved making sure she got enough sleep.

She was warm.  
Everything about her was warm. It made her approachable, and even with him looming over her, intimidating as he was, people seemed to gravitate toward her.  
Her words were warm, when she spoke with someone in need of assistance.  
She held her adoptive children in a warm, tight embrace, whenever they returned home from one of their adventures. The two girls never wanted to let go of her first, and he understood the feeling. When he took her hand to hoist her up some wall or out of harm's way, he held on to her for a little longer than necessary.  
Her skin was soft, and warm to the touch. So warm. The very air between them felt warm. She had a warm voice, and there was warmth in her gaze when she looked at him.  
He liked looking at her, looking at him warmly.

Well, she didn’t always look at him warmly. Her eyes could also be downright frosty.  
Like that one time, when he had suggested they eat her horse.  
Mind you, it happened soon after she had first hired him as her sword, and he hadn’t known better. They had had to quickly seek shelter from a blizzard, and were forced to spend days in a pathetic cave in the mountains. At the time they had been on their way to Winterhold to stock up on their dwindling supplies, and ran out of anything edible after the very first day.  
Back then, to him, a horse was just that - a horse. Replaceable.  
He had not made the same mistake again, and good deities, he never wanted to, either.  
It had made looking at her very difficult for a while, and it had already been his favorite pastime.

She picked up so much random things. In the beginning, it had baffled him. Annoyed even.  
She stopped to pick flowers, even when it was very inconvenient. She looted fallen enemies dry. Mushrooms, any kind. Not only honey, but bees as well. Collected every drop of venom from the monstrous spiders they encountered. Bones, vampire dust.  
Later it began to make sense.  
She used various ingredients to brew their own potions. They always had plenty of potions to heal and help them. She haggled tirelessly with merchants to make sure she got the best prices for every scrap, insect and piece of equipment they didn’t need, or exchanged their loot for the best armor and weapons available. Their gear was impeccable, yet she managed to improve it. She was making sure they had every possibility to survive, and he loved looking at her doing all that.

She not only picked up random things to use or sell. There was something she collected just for herself. And some, for her children. But mostly they were for her.  
She picked them up like lost puppies, with gentle hands, almost hugging them to her chest. Books. All the books. He didn’t even know there were so many books in all of Skyrim.  
No matter how much loot they already had, there was always room for one more book. Sometimes she found a book she already had. She took it anyway. By now, she had acquired houses in several places, and she was more than happy to fill some bookshelves in all of them. She said every book deserved a loving home. He was beginning to agree with her.  
She often read aloud to him on their journeys, and he certainly loved looking at her when she did.

He was constantly looking at her. He loved looking at her. Over all their time together (several months now, and his contracts usually lasted no more than a fortnight. She hadn’t dismissed him yet, and he, well, he would not be the one to bring up leaving her), he had learned her habits, her likes and dislikes.  
He had developed a knack for recognizing her feelings and moods from the subtlest of signs, from the way she held herself, the way she closed her eyes briefly before looking at someone. The way her lips pressed together or the way she set her feet.  
He knew exactly when she wanted him to come into a situation, when she wanted him to help, or just silently give his support. He knew when to butt out.  
He noticed warning signs. He noticed changes. One particular change was recent. Suddenly one morning she was wearing the amulet of Mara - she was looking to marry.  
And this change, for some reason, knocked the breath right out of him. 

He stared at her.  
She said something, he could see her lips moving, but his ears were buzzing and he didn’t hear the words. A moment later her lips were moving again. When he still didn’t answer, she paused what she was doing and turned to look at him quizzically. He grasped for his wits, something to say, words, any words.  
“I...I don’t...is that an amulet of Mara? I’m surprised someone like you isn’t spoken for.”  
As soon as he finished the sentence, he cursed himself. That was not what he had wanted to say. What did he mean to say? He couldn’t remember. But that was not it at all. And in his moment of distress he didn’t notice the look that flashed in her eyes, or the sudden coloring of her cheeks.  
For once, he was not looking at her. 

She was now looking at him.  
Actually, she was always looking at him, when she could get away with it.  
More often than not, his eyes were already on her, and she had to settle with being _aware_ of him. Oh, she was aware. But there were times when she had her chance.  
Like when he took care of their armor on the road.  
He took his time, cleaning the straps and the plates meticulously, repairing whatever damage he could without a forge and all the proper tools. Her eyes lingered on him, taking in the concentrated look on his face, the way he ran his fingers across the materials. Firmly, but gently. His big hands were rough and calloused and so used to holding weapons, and yet - outside battle - his touch was gentle.  
Sometimes she wondered what that touch would feel like on her, instead of the armor, and her thoughts made her blush. Whenever he took her hand to help her, or she took his, she was reluctant to let go at all.

He could fall asleep anywhere. On a bench close to her, when she was talking to a trader, or when they were hunting, laying low, waiting for a deer to get close.  
A few moments after a vigorous fight when her own ears were still ringing, and she was picking a lock on their prize chest with shaking hands, he was crouched next to her, already nodding off.  
On her watch, he fell asleep before his head touched the bedroll. When he went fishing with her children, she found them by the lake like one big sabre cat and kittens curled together for a nap.  
He dozed off leaning against a wall by her side, waiting for an audience with some Jarl.  
Maybe it was something every warrior had to learn. It was a skill she envied, and cherished.  
It did give her ample opportunities to look at him, and she loved doing just that. 

He never strayed far from her.  
When she needed him, he was close enough to be seen, no matter what. His gaze was calm and seemed to soften when their eyes met. Somehow he always sensed her silent alarm, any hint of trouble, and just appeared next to her. His presence was constant and comforting and made her feel safer, even in dangerous situations, even under dragon attack. She knew he had her back.  
For one, she was convinced she wouldn’t sleep at all without him. Sleeping on the road had always been near impossible for her, but that had changed some, when they began to travel together. Now all she had to do was look at him, see him settle for his watch, and she could feel her muscles relax. As her eyes began to close, the last thing she saw was him.  
The sight of him had been her salvation from the first time they had met.

She had been in Markarth, alone and weary, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.  
She had ended up there on a seemingly simple errand, but found herself in a spiderweb of vengeful, power-hungry monsters, deep rooted injustice, violence and corruption instead. Way in over her head, and no-one to turn to.  
She had walked into Silver-Blood Inn to find leads, and that was when she had first seen the Nord mercenary by the fire. His favorite place was always by the fire. He deeply enjoyed things that were warm and cozy. She had approached him with questions, despite his demeanor, facial tattoo and sheer size. She had liked his answers. He had looked straight in her eyes, and proved to be observant, open and truthful, unlike any other she had met in that city.  
His eyes had seemed brown, almost black at first, but if you looked closely (and she did look closely, and then couldn’t look away), his eyes were dark gold, like finest brandy, and they had made her knees feel a little wobbly. By the end of their conversation he had offered his services to her, and she had hastily accepted. He was a joy to travel with. She would not change a day. She did not want it to end.  
She had loved looking at him, being with him, right from the start.

She was looking at him now.  
He was staring at her, eyes showing a little too much white, but he didn’t really seem to see her.  
She didn’t know how much longer he would stay. Their contract was not permanent, and after all this time she was sure he was already on overtime. So she did the only thing she could think of to show him he should stay, without actually saying it. It had taken every shred of backbone and courage she had, but the amulet of Mara was meant as a sign to him. Just him.  
But now the look on his face made her think it might be the very thing that would end everything. End their journey together. That maybe the amulet was scaring him away instead.  
Her voice betrayed her, her throat felt so tight she couldn’t utter a word. Could hardly breathe.  
She was looking at him, and for the first time in months, she was terrified.

“Oh! That’s an amulet of Mara! I know what that means. Are you going to get married?”

He heard her daughter’s words through his daze. He turned slowly to look at the beaming, excited girl. The girl was looking at him. He blinked. Tried to process the words.  
Did she actually think her mother would… would she? Marry… him? A hired sword? Impossible. But the thought made his stomach turn to fluttery knots and his heart pick up its pace.  
Was it impossible? The girl obviously didn’t think so.  
He felt so strange, his chest constricting and face heating up, when he raised his eyes to look at her once again. She was already looking back at him, and in her eyes he saw pleading. There was anguish, fear. And under all that something else, too.  
Right there, in her eyes, he saw hope. Her hand was on the amulet, shaking a little.  
Slowly, he understood. He was looking at her, and now he saw.

They were looking at each other.  
He stepped closer to her. Slowly, to give her time to indicate he had misunderstood. But she stayed put. He raised his hand to tentatively touch hers, the one white-knuckled on the amulet that had caused this all. Her grip on it loosened to slip her fingers - small and slim and so, so warm - between his.  
They both looked at their hands for a moment, now intertwined in a strangely familiar way.  
He looked at her and faintly heard her daughter’s delighted squeal and hurried steps and calling out to everyone else, but the rest of the world was already disappearing.  
Like in a dream his free hand carefully lifted her chin. He took the last, small step that was still between them and then he was leaning toward her, felt her hitching breath on his lips and she rose up on her toes to meet him and then, then they were kissing, and her lips were warm like the rest of her, warm and soft, and meeting his perfectly. All hesitation was gone.  
He knew this was what he had been waiting for the whole time. 

He didn’t just love looking at her. He loved her.  
And now she was kissing him. She had wanted him. Him.  
He was kissing her and suddenly every choice he had ever made, everything he had done made sense, because it all had lead him right here, to this woman and this moment, and he had no regrets because if he could be with her, be together, it had all been worth it. 

His head swam when he felt her tongue and welcomed it, and the kiss deepened and went from sweet to something _more_ , and she let out the smallest whimper and the sound went right into his gut and made him groan in return. His hand cupped her head, tangled in her lush, silver hair, and his arm wrapped around her back pulling her ever closer. Her hands snaked around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his long hair.  
He held her so tight he could feel their hearts beating against each other and never wanted to let go, and she was in his arms, where she belonged, her feet no longer touched the ground and everything was perfect.


End file.
